


When tomorrow comes

by my_inked_asterism



Series: Our Time [2]
Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M, Fluff and Smut, Implied/Referenced Incest, at least TRY to be subtle I mean, heart eyes to next level tbh
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-12
Updated: 2019-08-12
Packaged: 2020-08-19 20:47:32
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,632
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20216041
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/my_inked_asterism/pseuds/my_inked_asterism
Summary: Back in the North, when Rhaegar and Lyanna asked the couple to be their respective best man and maid of honor, Jon’s reaction had been the most hilarious. He had literally choked on the coke he was drinking and had just stood there, coughing and stuttering to find the right words, the shock making it impossible for him to express his gratitude properly for a good ten minutes.It had been a surprise indeed, given all the colleagues and good friends Rhaegar had acquainted himself with throughout the last few years, and the vast choice of relatives in the Stark family for Lyanna – Sansa and Arya to begin with. But the soon-to-be-married couple had insisted on Dany and Jon to support them by the altar, knowing how important and symbolic the event would be for them too. “It just makes sense,” Rhaegar had said. “We’re in the same situation. It makes sense.”And in all honesty, being with Lyanna now in the villa’s alcove designated for the bride, her long dark waves bending as Dany carefully brushes them, and knowing Jon is taking care of her own brother just the same in their childhood house, makes Dany’s heart so full of emotion, she thinks maybe Rhaegar’s right – it does make sense.





	When tomorrow comes

**Author's Note:**

> Hi folks! I honestly didn't think a wedding could last 7k words but here it is!  
So, you can definitely read this as a stand alone shot, although if you're curious to know how we ended up at Rhaegar and Lyanna's wedding, I highly suggest you to read the previous fic aka my coffee shop AU [Extra Hour](https://archiveofourown.org/works/19427275); it might get things clearer, maybe.  
A HUGE thank you to my lovely friend [Sabrina](https://stilesssolo.tumblr.com) who polished this fic in a majestic way, as always. You find her on AO3 as elizaham8957 and you should definitely read her fics.  
Title is from "Flashlight" by Jessie J.
> 
> Hope you guys enjoy the story!!

[ ](https://www.flickr.com/photos/146793737@N07/48517582716/in/dateposted-public/)

Silence is not a defining trait of this city, yet the tapping of her own heels on the warm rock is the only sound to echo in the empty street at the moment. In the distance, the waves crash on the cliffs; the sea takes its time to calm after the storm of the previous day, but today the sky is clear, no shade of grey, no clouds impeding the sun from shining fully up above— although now, it’s just a tiny bright orange ball emerging from the horizon, where the sea meets the sky, painted with the colors of the dawn.

Despite the lack of people in the street, the perfume of vanilla and other spices stirs in the air as if it has been absorbed by the brick itself, and everything is exotically familiar, except that familiarity has gained a whole new meaning to her, now. 

Pentos has never felt like home to her. Even the North, where she’s been living for years now, has come to gain an effective value to her only throughout the last year. 

Now, though, walking on the desert red streets of her childhood town in anticipation of celebrating probably the most symbolic event of her life, for the first time Dany feels love for this city.

The wind howls, and a long, silver lock of hair crosses her face as she makes her way through the gate of the villa. She tames it back behind her ear, checking the address her brother gave her one last time to make sure she’s come to the right place. However, judging by the fancy big house and the decorated lawn that appears at the end of the path, Dany has no doubt about the location. 

She’s early— a bad habit of hers. Even though she knows Lyanna won’t be here for another twenty minutes, Dany had wanted to visit the villa first to check if the previous day’s storm had damaged anything, and in that case clean up the exterior if necessary; her duty as maid of honor is only to assist the bride, but Dany wants this event to be absolutely _ perfect _. And anyway, extra work has never been a problem to her. 

Luckily enough, though, when she steps onto the lawn of the house, it seems those responsible for the villa’s maintenance had already preceded her, despite the early hour. 

The wooden benches are all lined up in order and clean, settled in front of the pretty arch made of vines and blossoming ivy that symbolizes the altar. On the other side of the wide garden, a little hill slightly rises from the ground, creating a sort of private corner of the area. On it, a bunch of rounded tables, all painted in white and matching the chairs near them, are already covered with rose petals and fine silverware. 

Dany feels her lips parting, gaping at the view in front of her. Rhaegar and Lyanna’s wedding already looks like a fairytale. Without guests, with no music playing in the background and the sky slowly turning bright blue, for a sweet and selfish second, Dany pretends this is all for her. 

“Daenerys? Daenerys!” 

The daydream, brief yet so intense, is suddenly cut off by the familiar voice of a woman walking across the lawn.

Daenerys turns around immediately, the pretty figure of Lyanna Stark waving at her, beaming brighter than she’s ever seen before. She looks younger in her t-shirt and leggings, her brown hair loose over her shoulders and her face clean, despite the hints of age showing a bit on her skin, without any makeup on. 

She’s still so beautiful, though. And so similar to _ him_.

“Lyanna!” Dany calls back. “You’re already here.”

“Well, still later than _ you _.” Lyanna finally approaches and embraces her in a warm hug. “Thank you again for agreeing to help me get ready.”

Dany throws her a soft smile, before replying. “Of course. Thank _ you _for picking me as maid of honor.” Lyanna smiles back, warm golden eyes shining with excitement. “Jon’s already with Rheg?” 

The brunette woman nods. “Yes, we left the hotel together.” 

“All right then,” Dany’s smile widens and she takes the woman by the arm, walking her toward the building. “Let’s go get ready.” 

Back in the North, when Rhaegar and Lyanna asked the couple to be their respective best man and maid of honor, Jon’s reaction had been the most _ hilarious_. He had literally choked on the coke he was drinking and had just stood there, coughing and stuttering to find the right words, the shock making it impossible for him to express his gratitude properly for a good ten minutes. 

It had been a surprise indeed, given all the colleagues and good friends Rhaegar had acquainted himself with throughout the last few years, and the vast choice of relatives in the Stark family for Lyanna – Sansa and Arya to begin with. But the soon-to-be-married couple had insisted on Dany and Jon to support them by the altar, knowing how important and symbolic the event would be for them too. “It just makes sense,” Rhaegar had said. “We’re in the same situation. It makes sense.”

And in all honesty, being with Lyanna now in the villa’s alcove designated for the bride, her long dark waves bending as Dany carefully brushes them, and knowing Jon is taking care of her own brother just the same in their childhood house, makes Dany’s heart so full of emotion, she thinks maybe Rhaegar’s right – it does make sense.

“Where did you learn how to braid hair this well?” Lyanna asks her as Dany’s fingers twist her locks again, finishing the first braid on the side of the head. 

“Oh, well I kinda had to. Viserys wouldn’t let me cut my hair when I was in middle school.” Spotting the shocked look on Lyanna’s face in the mirror, Dany huffs out a laugh, followed by a simple shrug. “Back then he used to tell me I was more… captivating… with long hair. I never questioned the reason why he should’ve been interested in seeing me as captivating. I was barely a teenager, my father was mostly absent, and Rhaegar always worked out of town, so Viserys had been my only point of reference for a while,” she explained, putting a clip in the second braid. 

“Anyways, I couldn’t really handle my hair this long on a daily basis. Waist-level hair isn’t the best for horseback riding, even less when temperatures reached over 100°F.” She joins the two tresses with a strand of pearls, shiny white standing out against the brown curls. “I followed a few tutorials on YouTube and taught myself,” Dany finally adds. 

She turns around to pick the curling iron from the shelf, voluntarily wasting some time by searching for nothing in particular in random boxes so that she would avoid Lyanna’s sad gaze on her. 

When her focus is back on the bride’s hair, Lyanna finally breaks the silence. 

“I’m sorry about your father. And your brother. I don’t think I ever had the chance to tell you,” Lyanna says in such an earnest tone it makes her chest tight.

After one year of being in a relationship with Jon, this is probably the first time Lyanna has mentioned her father – or family issues in general – with Dany, alone. Of course, being one of the nurses at the house care where Aerys stays, most of the time she inadvertently knows a lot about him, and way before any other family members, but the conversation Dany’s had with Jon’s mother so far about her own father has never crossed the medical line. She has Jon for that. 

Dany carefully removes the brown lock she had wrapped around the hot iron, the curl resting on Lyanna’s back, covered in white lace, as Dany’s head lifts a bit to meet her warm eyes, already staring back at her. 

With a smile that she hopes communicates all the gratitude in her chest, Dany gently places her free hand on Lyanna’s shoulder. “Thank you,” she says, her voice warm to match the woman’s look. “Anyway, I always had Rhaegar by my side. He’s really been my flashlight throughout all the dark times.” 

Lyanna smiles back, and Dany’s attention goes back to her curls. “Yeah, he tends to be quite a savior.” And as she says so, Dany glimpses a glint in her eyes, a reminiscence of a memory too distant, or maybe just too intimate to share with her. Then Lyanna clears her throat and looks away, a sudden darker shade flushing her cheeks. “Sometimes I feel like I’m robbing you of him.”

Dany chuckles. “No, please, never think that, Lyanna. I’m so happy for you two, really. Besides,” she pauses for just a second, the time to meet Lyanna’s eyes in the mirror with a soft smile. “I have Jon now.” 

“I guess it’s an equal exchange, then.” Lyanna smirks and winks at her. 

Dany laughs, turning off the curling iron. “I guess it is.” She passes her hands through Lyanna’s hair to smooth the curls and feels her relaxing under her touch. Finally she applies some extra pearly clips to keep the braids together. “Okay, hair’s done,” Dany states. 

At the outcome Lyanna looks _ radiant_. Dany never thought that something she’s learnt by extreme necessity could turn out to be the artistic detail of a wedding. 

But if she considers herself quite skilled with hair, Dany can’t say the same about the makeup part. Sure,her own makeup is always impeccable, but even if she changes a lipstick with another or adds a second eye shadow, the technique’s basically always the same; plus, doing your own everyday makeup on your very familiar face is one thing, doing someone else’s is another. Luckily, Lyanna doesn’t seem very demanding about it, requesting in fact only basic makeup in a rose shade, which is more or less what Dany is able to do. 

She’s just finishing applying the last bits of blush when she catches a glimpse of the clock on the opposite wall, indicating her that there’s about one hour left before the wedding starts. Her face must contort into some kind of grimace from glancing at it, because suddenly Lyanna’s hand is on hers, moving it away from her face gently, squeezing it to comfort her in such a way, Dany supposes, only a mother could do. “Go get ready, darling,” she orders softly.

“But I still have to–“

“I’m sure I can put the dress up on my own,” Lyanna interjects, forcing her to put the brush down on the table. “You need time to prepare yourself as well; you’re the maid of honor, after all!”

Dany struggles for a while, insisting on staying to help her, but Lyanna’s argument has a point— with less than an hour until the celebration starts, she’s still in leggings and sneakers; meanwhile, all the big stuff for the bride’s preparation has already been done. 

“Fine,” Dany concedes finally. “But if you need anything, _ anything_–”

“I’ll call you.” And with that, a polite and slightly amused smile stuck on her face, the brunette woman pushes Dany out of the room. 

To her relief, the room reserved for the maid of honor is located right next to the bride’s, so it doesn’t take her long to find it. This one is smaller, and even more sober, with minimalistic prints on the walls, a wardrobe, an ebony makeup table and an armchair where she spots her bag. Lyanna had taken it and brought it for her the day before when she and Rhaegar and visited the place to check all the details and make sure the rooms were ready to host whoever needed to get dressed there. From what Dany knows, they had rented three rooms total: one for her, one for the bride-to-be and one last one for Sansa and Arya, while the boys all had stayed at the Targaryen house to prepare – the shorter the walk in high heels, the better. 

Hanging on the wardrobe in a garment bag, her dress looks gorgeous as gorgeous as she remembers it— black with embroidered burgundy details on it, abstract drawings circling the bodice and descending on the gown like ruby waves. 

She stares at the colors of her family, thinking of how much Rhaegar had had to insist on being allowed to pick a black dress for such a ceremony, trying to convince his fiancé about the importance of that symbol. Without any doubt, her brother’s always been the most patriotic and traditionalist person she’s ever known, and especially on this occasion, Dany can’t help but be glad for it. The dress fits her perfectly, tight across her bust before becoming smooth and loose on her hips and legs, leaving one leg slightly bare by a simple slit up the side. She’s so mesmerized by the sight, overwhelmed by the thought that this dress can’t be much different from others her ancestors must’ve worn in a big palace, maybe even on a throne, knowing the prestigious name her family holds, and the silly idea of wearing the Targaryen colors at her own wedding crosses her mind and makes her somehow smile. 

The grin fades quickly when she realizes that, for the second time in less than two hours, she has found herself thinking about her own nonexistent ideal wedding instead of her brother’s. 

In a time she reckons must be a record for her gender to get ready, a half hour later Dany has her hair braided in a crown across her head, her makeup on, light and neat on the eyes and a soft red shade on the lips, and her maid bracelet on her right wrist. 

She’s just sitting to put her black heels on when suddenly the door swings open, and Dany’s eyes widen in pure surprise at the sight of Sansa Stark bumping into her room. But by the look of shock the redhead gives her as she meets her eyes, Dany immediately understands she didn’t mean to come in here. 

“Oh… Daenerys!” Sansa exclaims when she spots her, and Dany is already on her feet. “I’m sorry, this– I was looking for my aunt. Sorry,” she stutters, carefully avoiding Dany’s eyes, she notices. 

Sansa’s hand is already on the knob, her back turned and ready to leave, when something inside of Dany cringes in frustration and anxiety, the same feeling she has had for the past few months whenever she and Jon found themselves in his cousins’ company. All her attempts to get closer to the redhead have bounced back against a massive wall, followed by polite yet cold words.

And the fact that she’s never found a proper occasion to be alone with Sansa hasn’t strengthened their bond at all. 

So before she has the rationality to hold it back, Dany’s feet move forward instinctively. 

“Sansa,” she calls to her, and the ginger woman immediately turns around, a look of surprise crossing her beautiful face at hearing her name. “I, uhm, I was hoping we could talk a little.”

Sansa seems taken aback, clearly not expecting this - not that Dany had planned it either, anyway. But after a few seconds of hesitation, she finally closes the door behind her and gets closer to Dany, who invites the other woman to sit in the free chair in front of hers. 

They sit there for a moment in silence, wolf and dragon analyzing each other in preparation for either a fight or a truce— neither of them know. Dany licks her lips, confident and slightly nervous at the same time for the way the redhead looks at her, as if she’s constantly judging her, scrutinizing her, and suddenly she struggles to find the right words to start with. 

At the end, direct seems the best option. “I know we’ve never had the chance to… _ bond _,” Dany says, her eyes carefully meeting Sansa’s. “ I just couldn’t help but notice that in the last few months you’ve seemed to avoid me… maybe? Maybe it’s just an impression, of course. I just wanted to let you know that I’m open to talk.”

Sansa’s icy blue eyes look away from her, her mouth opening as to say something, but no word escape. For the first time Dany, sees her struggle to speak, her attempt to restrain something visible on her face. 

“Is it about the wedding?” Dany asks, tentatively. “I know family is complicated… ours certainly are… and the prospective of a step family doesn’t make it easy.” 

“It’s not that.” 

Yeah, she had feared so. 

“Your cousin?” Dany then asks quietly. 

Sansa nods, her shoulders seeming to tense as her eyes come to meet Dany’s again, two different shades of blue colliding with the power of their stares. 

“You do seem nice, Daenerys,” Sansa starts, maybe catching Dany’s worried look. “Nothing you’ve done so far has even for a second made me doubt your feelings for my cousin.”

“But,” Dany says, a hint of a question hidden in the word. 

“But I’ve seen him suffer, too many times and for too many reasons, to allow myself not to be overprotective of him.” Sansa’s eyes bore into hers, her expression devoid of emotion, as if she’s in a court taking to a defendant, rather than in a conversation with her cousin’s girlfriend. “And now that you’re going to be part of the family, you see, it’d be even more complicated if–“

The insinuation in her words makes Dany go off. “I would _ never _ do anything to hurt Jon,” she interjects defensively, hating that she has to prove herself in that way.

Sansa doesn’t even blink at her statement. “No one who did before ever affirmed the opposite.”

Dany bites her lip, pausing for a moment as they both keep staring at each other, pondering words. 

“You don’t trust me,” she finally says, almost hurt at the implication. 

Sansa sighs— the first hint of emotion since she’s started talking to her. “I don’t trust anyone,” she admits. “Even less when it involves my family. Even _ less _, when it’s about Jon. It’s just…” she trails off, searching for the right words. “Men tend to be easily manipulated when in love.”

A wave of rage suddenly makes its way in Dany’s chest, the feeling so overwhelming she has to dig her nails into her palms in order to control it. Her first impulse is to jump out of her seat and get out, feeling suddenly _ claustrophobic _ , suffocated from the amount of feelings she has now to put into actual words to let _ her _ understand. A part of her just wants to run away, yet the other one… she feels like she needs to _ explain _. 

“All my life I’ve been manipulated by men,” Dany says, trying to keep her voice as flat as possible. “I know what it feels like to be on the other side, and the last thing I want to do is make someone feel that way.” She meets Sansa’s blue eyes, glaring at the woman in hopes of letting her know how important this is to her – to make her understand. “You said you don’t trust anyone – I don’t either. I get it. So, can you imagine how it feels, when you’ve been betrayed over and over again, you’ve come to grow up with a constant sense of fear of opening up to people, and then finally you find someone who gets to your heart in record time and makes you feel like an open book? Can you imagine how _ frightening _that must feel?” Her tone slightly raises as she speaks, but Dany couldn’t care less.

She watches the other woman slowly nod, almost hypnotized by her words, and that indicates to Dany that she has her full attention now. Her back starts relaxing.

“I’ve never trusted a man, romantically speaking, until Jon. _ He _ taught me that, ‘cause he had much more experience with trustworthy people than I did, thanks to his family, to _ you,” _ Dany says, eyes honest. “I fully understand your concern, Sansa, I really do. But I _ love _him. I love him like I’ve never loved anyone in my life before, and I intend to be with him for as long as he lets me.” 

She finishes speaking, her chest still swelling with pride, almost panting from the passion she put into that speech. The redheaded woman stays silent for a minute, her gaze fixed down on her lap as she’s considers all Dany’s words, one by one. When she lifts her eyes back to hers, this time they’re soft, the narrowing look of before having turned content, almost endearing, and something in Dany’s chest suddenly feels lighter. 

“Okay,” Sansa simply says. “Okay, I believe you.” And then, to Dany’s surprise, her lips pull into a smile as she stands up from the chair— not the tight, polite smile Dany always sees her wearing, but a sincere one, like they just made a silent pact and established peace between them. 

A heavy burden inside her crumbles, a sigh escaping her lips, and finally, Dany returns the smile just as fondly, standing up as well. 

Then Sansa walks to the door, the air of tension leaving the room with her, but before she does so, the woman turns around, one foot already in the hallway, and looks back at Dany. 

“You look gorgeous, by the way.” She winks at her – actually _ winks _ – and then walks out for good, leaving Dany in the middle of the room with her mouth gaping in surprise and the corners of her lips still turned upright. 

* * *

He hadn’t been prepared for the sight of her when he saw her walking down the aisle towards the flowery arch, in all her five foot three of grace, positioning herself opposite of him, right next to the spot where, in a few minutes, his mother will stand too. 

Their eyes don’t meet a single time during the walk, hers too focused on beaming at her own brother next to him, and Jon gaping at her figure in a way he knows can’t possibly have gone unnoticed. Just as the thought has formed in his mind, Jon feels a poke at his elbow, catching Rhaegar’s smirk out of the corner of his eye, and when his eyes raise to finally lock onto hers, time and space stop, and it’s suddenly just her and him. 

Daenerys looks beyond beautiful. Jon wonders if there will ever be a moment in his life when he won’t stop breathing at the very first sight of her entering a room. 

Back at the Targaryen’s house, Rhaegar had told him in advance about the choice of colors of the maid of honor’s dress, reflecting their family’s tradition, but even though Jon had been skeptical at the news, seeing how unusual it might be, he now finds himself feeling blessed and completely overwhelmed by her beauty. The contrast between her silver hair, tied back across her head to form a braided crown, and the dark dress stands out in the green of the garden, and he notices a single flower has been inserted between her tresses, the lone touch of color that, together with the burgundy waves on her gown, makes her look _ ethereal _. 

He must’ve stayed like that – eyes wide and mouth slightly open – for quite a while, because when he goes back to look at her, Daenerys’s lips are pressed together, an amused smile formed on them as she tries to hold back a chuckle at his expression. She looks at him and Jon drowns in the brightness of her eyes, shining at him with something that goes beyond just simple makeup, he hopes. 

They stare at each other, under everyone’s scrutinizing look, holding so much love in their eyes during a celebration that’s not meant for them; yet, he can’t help but pretend for a moment that Rhaegar beside him would take his sister’s hand, gently accompanying her to Jon’s side and, after sharing an affectionate look and giving his blessing to the couple, he would leave them in front of a pair or rings that only partly manage to symbolize their two hearts beating like one.

Then the piano starts playing— it hits a low note that echoes in his chest and only keeps growing as Jon spots his mother at the end of the rocky path, and all the fantasies of seconds before get immediately stored away in an imaginary box in his mind, for now. 

Lyanna walks slowly down the aisle, a bouquet of white roses in one hand as the other sets comfortably on Ned Stark’s arm, her silky gown reflecting the rays of sun like she’s part of the light itself, her hair half loose around her shoulders, half tied back in complicated braids entangled with pearls.Never ever in his entire life has Jon seen his own mother look _ so _radiant. 

Ned gently places a kiss on her forehead before leaving her by Rhaegar’s side, now beaming at his bride, his look reflected in Lyanna’s eyes just as deeply. In the front row, among the audience, his cousins sit smiling— even Bran, who, in the past few days, had hardly shown any interest in the event altogether, a stark contrast with Robb and Talisa beside him, who have both already started getting emotional, judging by the teary eyes of the woman and her husband’s hand rubbing her leg softly and maybe a bit nervously. Jon can only presume that once you get married, all the weddings you attend afterwards make all the memories and flashbacks come to the surface, inevitably. Sansa and Arya, for their part, just look calmly serene; he sees Arya looking around her from time to time with shiny eyes, curious and struck at the same time by the unusual conglomerate of cultures and scolded often by her sister to stay still in her seat. Jon smiles. 

Then the officiant speaks, the ritual sentences introducing the event, and Jon’s attention is drawn back to the couple – he doesn’t look away from them until the ceremony is over.

All the details he’d missed in the past months stand out, as if put to inspection under a huge lens, and everything becomes so clear at his eyes. He notices the playful grin on his mother’s face, the way she tries to keep her smile from widening and stay composed at Rhaegar’s smirking look, communicating with nothing but their eyes in a secret language Jon speaks way too well, but never with his mother. 

He notices Rhaegar’s hand resting on her waist when he puts the golden ring on Lyanna’s finger, yet never looking away from her eyes, and hesitating to move away even when the ring is fully on. 

He notices his mother’s eyes getting slightly wet when he says ‘yes,’ a burning seal impressed in both their hearts, a seal that most people would be scared, anxious even, to wear, and yet in his life Jon’s never seen a more relieved woman than his mom in that moment. 

And Jon notices that same relief becoming concrete as Rhaegar sighs it out and leans in to kiss his wife, barely waiting for the officiant’s permission. He kisses her chastely, sweetly, and in such an intimate way that Jon suddenly feels like an intruder rather than a guest. He has to look away for a moment, because yes, he had noticed everything, and now more than ever knows how right this is.

There’s a burst of joyful shouting, and everyone is laughing, the music starting to play again, the sky painted with all the hundreds of colors of confetti and petals thrown at the married couple, who don’t even put much effort in shielding themselves. 

They’re soon circled by the crowd of guests, silver hair mixing with black. He spots Robb, hugging Lyanna tight enough to lift her from the ground, and a tanned girl he doesn’t recognize approaches too to congratulate her. Even Viserys is already at his brother’s side, squeezing his shoulder with pride.

Jon’s unsteady in his place, constantly pulled and pushed forward by the mass, flooding around him towards the same direction, and the guests seem to have multiplied now that he stands in the middle of the crowd, suddenly feeling claustrophobic. 

The feeling of joy hasn’t quite faded away, but he can’t handle the mass of people since… the accident. Jon tries to back up, the pressure of bodies making it hard even to turn around, and for a tiny moment he feels panic filling his chest, growing, the scars burning on his skin as to remind him of his past, what happened the last time he found himself fighting against so many people, breathless and desperate, suffocating. The world starts spinning. 

And then a warm touch on his hand brings him back. Dany is by his side, her fingers entwining with his, keeping him grounded. 

His heart doesn’t stop hammering in his chest, but panic has nothing to do with it now, and when she gets closer, studying his expression worriedly, her lips stretching into a reassuring smile, every nightmare from before returns to the secret dark corner of his mind, the one only she knows. 

“You okay?” she asks, her hand coming to caress his cheek. He leans into her touch automatically.

Jon nods, giving her a soft smile. “Aye, don’t worry.” Seeing her brow furrowed, he leans in and catches her lips in a small kiss, lingering before pulling away and meeting her eyes, where the concern has finally ebbed. “You are _ stunning _, by the way,” he adds, as they start following the other guests, now directed towards the bar area on the other side of the lawn. 

Dany beams at him, a slight flush painting her cheeks. “Well you don’t look bad either,” she says with a smirk. 

“It was a beautiful ceremony,” he then states, before ordering two glasses of champagne from the waiter behind the counter.

“Thank you.” Dany smiles as he hands her the glass. “And yes, it was. I’ve never seen my brother look this happy— even before his first marriage, he was so anxious that he must’ve lost two pounds just from pacing in the room.” 

Jon chuckles, his eyes widening in surprise. “Really? Back at your house he looked almost calmer than I was. And when I pointed that out, you know what we he said to me? He went: ‘Oh, Jon, but I’m used to this. With your mother everything is an event,’” Jon tells her, doing his best impression of her brother’s southern accent, which has Dany cracking up in a second. “And then I got diagnosed with diabetes and had to leave.” 

Daenerys bursts into laughter again, and Jon’s heart is consumed by the sight of her and the sound of her happiness. “He _ can _ be a little corny sometimes, indeed,” she admits, taking a sip of champagne. “It’s quite adorable.” 

“Oh, so you _ like _it.” Jon steps closer to her, a smirk tugging at his lips and eyes shining only for her. With his free hand, he feels bold enough to circle her waist and pull her closer, despite the crowd, despite the formality and everything that is around them.

Dany’s eyes lock on his immediately, the same playful smile forming on her mouth as well. “Well, it wouldn’t hurt to have some romanticism from time to time, Jon Snow.” But her tone is far from accusatory; on the contrary, she inches closer so that their noses are almost touching, and her eyes flutter closed in anticipation. He would remain staring at her like this forever if he wasn’t so desperate to close the distance. 

“I was told I’m better at _ facts_,” Jon says, his tone mischievous, and before she has the time to reply, his mouth is already on hers. They kiss, slowly and heatedly, tongues colliding and lips moving in sync, like they’re trying to absorb all the essence of the moment and trap it in their memories forever. 

He feels her hand tugging at the collar of his tuxedo, pulling gently to deepen the kiss, and Jon has to gather all his self-control to limit himself to just kissing her. 

They separate eventually, both slightly panting, and when he looks back at her, her eyes are incredibly big and _ so _bright, her rosy lips now swollen for the recent kiss. Dany’s the first to take a step back, maybe noticing the glares of the people around them, even though Jon couldn’t care less, but he silently agrees and they start strolling around the garden together. 

On one side of the garden he sees Sansa and Arya chatting with one silver-haired girl, who looks to be Arya’s age, having fun with their glasses empty already. Near them Robb is chuckling at something Theon said, the two men doubled over with laughter. They walk past the couple and when they spot Jon, both men give him a wave, smiling. But as they head back to the bar, Jon doesn’t miss the way Theon’s eyes scan Daenerys’s figure, a lusty look that immediately fades away the moment Jon rests his arm on her back protectively – slightly possessively – Theon catching his scolding look when their eyes meet. If Dany notices it too, she says nothing, maybe too accustomed to the way men usually look at her, or maybe too oblivious and relaxed by Jon’s presence next to her to pay attention to anything else.

“Wait,” Jon suddenly chimes in, stopping abruptly in the middle of the garden. A few feet away, he spots Viserys with a young woman, the same tanned girl he had seen before congratulating his mother among the guests. It’s not quite the only sight of them talking together that makes him stop, but the _ way _ they talk. They’re speaking closely, intimately, in a way he would never do with any relative. Jon thinks about Sansa and feels a wave of nausea at the thought of having _ that _type of eye contact with his cousin. He sees Viserys curving forward to murmur something in the woman’s ear, and she smiles at his words, blushing slightly. 

That is totally _ not _the way he talks to Sansa.

“What is it?” Dany asks, looking up at him quizzically. 

“Who’s that girl?” Jon asks, pointing at the couple with a nod.

Dany follows his gaze, her brows arching when she spots them, too. “Oh, that’s Rhaegar’s daughter, Rhaenys.” 

“Your _ niece _?” Jon says, shocked. He knew Rhaegar had been married once before, and has two children from his first marriage. Indeed, Dany told him she became an aunt at a very young age, but he just didn’t realize how young she must’ve been. Rhaenys looks young, but surely not younger than either Daenerys or Jon, meaning Dany had been an aunt since her own birth. 

Besides, for some reason – a very legitimate one, noticing how all of Dany’s relatives look very much like each other – he hadn’t imagined Rhaenys to be this tall girl with chocolate hair and bronze skin, at all. 

Dany huffs in laughter at his expression, and nods. “Her mother, Elia, is from Dorne,” she explains. “Probably the most aesthetically different people in our family.” 

“But why…” he glances at Rhaenys again, now sipping Viserys’s drink from his glass. “It seems like your brother is… _ flirting_… with her.” Jon shifts on his feet as he says so, feeling uncomfortable at his own words.

Dany, for her part, stares at the couple for a second, then turns to Jon with a sigh. “I would be lying if I told you I didn’t know about that.” Jon’s brow furrows at her confession, watching her quizzically, but Dany just shrugs at him. “I’m not saying it’s a popular thing among my family members, but Viserys and Rhaenys are certainly not the first, and I doubt they’ll be the last ones either, for what Rhaegar told me about our traditions…” 

“But, I mean, that is not… normal,” Jon stutters. “Right?” 

Daenerys licks at her lips, clearly struggling with her thoughts. “I actually grew up thinking it _ is _normal.” 

“So it’s not weird for you?” Jon then asks, curious.

Dany gives him a light shrug. “I think that as long as two people love each other, bring the best out of each other, nothing else matters. Or at least it makes you put it into perspective, you know, take everything into consideration.” She glances at the couple, pausing for a moment, before looking back into his eyes. ”I told you of Viserys’s bad temper… and yet when he’s with her, he seems nice and calm, as I rarely see him lately. I would rather see him content and with my niece than mad with someone else.” 

Jon nods again, considering her words. “You’re probably right. I think it’s just a matter of cultures, though,” he says. “I don’t know if I could ever go on with that.” 

“I think it’s only about _ feelings,_” Dany responds firmly, now staring at him seriously, a grave tone hidden in her voice. “If I found out I’m your actual aunt, I would never give up on our love in spite of any shared relation.”

She says so with blue eyes piercing his soul, her fierceness betrayed only by the simple act of swallowing, like she had been way too bold to admit such a thing. Dany stares at him expectantly, a rebel lock escaping the crown of hair on her head. So, instead of answering back, Jon can’t resist the impulse and gently tucks it behind her ear, and her eyes soften a bit at his action. 

“We’d find a way,” he finally agrees, and the smile she gives him is immediate at his response, her shoulders relaxing. “Although it would definitely complicate some things.” 

Dany takes a step closer, her face only a few inches apart from his, as she meets his eyes fiercely. Then a smirk pulls at her mouth, and Jon shivers in anticipation, knowing all too well where that leads to by now. 

She leans in, one hand in his curls, pulling him closer, as the other grips at his own hand and places it on her lower back, barely covered by soft lace and warm under his touch. In a low, hoarse voice, she moves her lips closer to his ear and whispers, “Still, my ass would be quite the same.” 

Then she breaks away, and after one last glance, Dany turns around, hips swaying in her black dress as she heads silently towards the villa, and Jon knows he’s _ totally _ruined at this point.

He stands there gaping at her, watching the most beautiful creature he’s ever seen leaving, and without a second thought he’s already behind her. 

And Jon follows her— always has, always will. 

* * *

  
Thank the _ gods _the villa is empty. 

They still have to learn how to be subtle, but today is certainly _ not _the day, as they take more than ten minutes to get to Dany’s room, stopping at least three times on the way to make out hungrily against a wall, and even when they separate, Jon’s hand doesn’t leave her bum until they reach the door. 

After that, it escalates quickly. 

Dany’s soon trapped in his strong arms, her chest pressed against his as he takes her breath away in the most pleasing way, his mouth moving from her lips to the spot below her ear, kissing her pulse point and making her moan already. He reaches for her shoulder, gently biting on it, well aware of the fact he can’t leave marks on her skin today, but it’s enough to send shivers all over her body.The moment his right hand rests on her breast, Dany has to hug him tighter in support, so that she doesn’t let her knees crumple. 

They back up together, never breaking the kiss, and with an annoyed huff she remembers there’s actually no bed in this room. Moving in sync, they get to the table nearby, and with Jon’s help she climbs on it, legs on either side of him and her hands unbuttoning his shirt, his jacket already on the marble floor. 

“Careful with the dress,” she warns him, her breath short as she feels his hands wandering along her thighs and tucking the material around her waist. 

His mouth travels up her neck to focus back on her lips and he kisses her, this time gentler, slower, as to remark how soft he’s going to be. She melts into his kiss, intoxicated by his scent, the movement of hands on her skin, now only inches away from her core. 

“I would just be more likely to take it off of you,” he tells her in an incredibly low voice that reaches her lower belly in a second. Her hand scratches lightly at the back of his neck, nails digging into his skin, when without warning Jon penetrates her with two fingers. She lets out a gasp at the sensation, already moving her hips to follow his rhythm.

“We don’t have time for that,” she pants in response, but Dany sees him smiling before he leans closer and gives her a sloppy kiss, his fingers thrusting faster inside of her. 

“Jon,” she moans, “I need–“

She doesn’t get to conclude her sentence, her reasoning lost in some dark corner of her mind. Instead, Dany pushes him forward with one heel, enough to have the space to pull his trousers down, soon joined by the boxer briefs, and she starts stroking his length. 

“Oh gods,” Jon breathes out, and she knows from how hard he is in her hand that he won’t last long. 

So Dany pulls him closer with her legs, his tip so close to her centre, and without looking away from her eyes, Jon rubs it against her for a sweet minute before slipping in and finally filling her completely, both letting out a long sigh in the process. They stay still for a moment, his hand cupping her cheek, stroking it with his thumb; staring at him, his eyes holding so much awe for her, Dany feels the air stuck in her lungs, her heart pounding furiously against his other hand, now resting on her chest, and she never thought that loving someone _ this _much could be such blissful oblivion and piercing pain at the same time. 

But then he pulls out almost completely, before pushing forward with a long thrust, and Dany knows it’s worth it, from the charge of pleasure starting at her feet and reaching every single cell of her body, to the overwhelming feeling of undeniable love lulling her to sleep at night — it’s all worth it. 

“I love you,” she says quietly, panting, her eyes closed from pleasure, yet incredibly focused on her feelings. “_So _much.”

Jon lifts his chin up to stare at her, gorgeous dark eyes finding hers like an anchor to the ground. “Me too,” he lets out, thrusting harder and _ slower _. “Oh gods, Dany, I love you too.” 

He tells her so almost like a plea, now hugging her tightly with both his arms to keep her close to his chest, where she feels his own heart beating just as fast as hers, just as desperate to communicate to the other how _ much _it feels. 

His thrusts get faster, more erratic, and she arches against him, the friction sending waves of pleasure down her body, and she knows she’s close when both his hands lower to her ass and guide her hips to meet his. 

The whines she emits are embarrassingly loud, every attempt to stifle them vain now that she can’t bite on his shoulder, not allowed to leave marks. So instead she lifts her head from his shoulder, takes his face in both her hands, and forces him to look at her in the eyes, desperate to let him see how _ good _he makes her feel. 

“Dany...” he starts and immediately stops, swallowing and licking at his lips, as if he’s in a mental struggle. He grabs at her left thigh and brings it up to his waist. “Dany, you will marry me, right?” he asks out of nowhere, her orgasm building up with the new angle. “When the moment comes, and I’m on my knees offering you a ruby and my heart with it, will you say yes?” And at that, her heart explodes.

“_Kessa,” _ Dany whines. It’s too much, too much of him. And at the same time, she also knows it’ll never be enough.

He pushes one more time and kisses her hard to stop her scream as she clenches hot around him; Jon thrusts inside her only twice more before he comes undone right after, panting in her ear.

Her head falls on his chest and she hears Jon’s short breaths return to regular as well. Inhaling his scent and barely caring about the warm drops of sweat on his skin when she brings her arms up to circle his neck, Dany lets out a sigh of relief. As her forehead comes to rest in the crook of his neck, she finally whispers, “_Kessa, kesan sagon syt mirre aōhon_.” 

He doesn’t understand the words; she knows he doesn’t.

Yet, maybe from the tenderness in her tone, or the adoring look on her face, when she finally lifts her head up and meets his eyes, he smiles at her knowingly, two teary ebony pits taking her in as if she’s just struck him with an epiphany.

No, he doesn’t need to know the language to understand her heart. 

  
♦

“_Kessa. Kessa, kesan sagon syt mirre aōhon_.” : “Yes. Yes, I will be forever yours.”

**Author's Note:**

> Leave a comment if you liked the fic! Thanks so much for reading xx
> 
> You find me on tumblr as ronsweasley.


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